


Chicken Coop

by schmulte



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmulte/pseuds/schmulte
Summary: The letter Henry was going to write Alex before leaving the lake house, and the one he chose instead
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	Chicken Coop

_Alex,_

_There is nothing in this life I hate more than boredom. It is a restless, gnawing emotion, that often manifests itself as a dull headache or the steady shaking of a leg beneath a table. Boredom is sitting through a three hour formal dinner with no one to talk to at the table besides a very pretty girl who I will surely disappoint by the end of the evening. Boredom is listening to Philip lecture about family loyalty and royal duty while my grandmother listens diligently and Bea has already fallen asleep in her chair. Boredom is reading a book assigned to me that I might have enjoyed if I had chosen it on my own, but now it is merely another task to complete._

_You are the opposite of boredom. You are what I imagine Fourth of July fireworks to be, at least from what I've seen in movies. You are bonfires on Guy Fawkes day, which I'm sure you would tease me about and tell me it's not a real holiday and that it's rather morbid to celebrate a failed assassination attempt by lighting things on fire. You are the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree in a house where the children still believe in Santa Claus. You are every holiday, celebration, and milestone wrapped up in one impossible being. You have the ability to make a business dinner tolerable with the slightest of smiles; a book is suddenly interesting if you're reading it too._

_It's dangerous, the excitement you create from the mundane. Boredom, I have been taught, is a safe emotion because it means you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary. To be bored is to be a hen longing for a life outside the coop, unaware that it is the only thing protecting her from a hungry wolf just outside. I am too often the chicken, and never the wolf._

_The truth is, I am too frightened to be anything else. I will be content where I am; I will lay my eggs and pretend that outside does not exist, and when it is night I will sleep, and I will dream of the bravery I do not have in the daylight._

_Your words last night have shaken the very foundation on which I have stood for twenty three years of my life. I have spent years longing for you, and I was happy in the safety of a one-sided love. You would go on, and I would pine, and we would slip past each other as ships in the night, never to meet. I never imagined you'd have the audacity to love me back._

_I do not have courage like you. I am not exciting- I am not fireworks or a bonfire. I will not rage out of control should I touch dry grass. I wish I could. I wish I were not stuck to live my life in boredom while you move on and light someone else's life ablaze; I pity the next poor soul who gets in the way of your flames._

_You may call me a coward for leaving, I won't deny it. But I am an animal raised in captivity, and I will not survive should I be set free into the wild. So I must go, in order to save myself. I will leave you my copy of Pride and Prejudice, and I hope that you find it interesting only because I have read it, though I do not expect it._

_Know that I love you in silent bravery, and that I will think of you when my leg bounces in my seat on the flight home._

_Forever Yours,_

_Henry_

Alex stirs on the bottom bunk. Henry realizes he's lingered too long, but the face that is sleeping mere inches from him is something he needs to memorize every detail of before he leaves it forever. The dark eyelashes that cast long shadows on tanned cheeks, the tangled chestnut curls that spill over the pillow, the pink lips that he has kissed, and kissed, and kissed in a thousand dreams and too few realities, the soft curve of the Cupid's bow he longs to touch. Alex is too perfect like this, when he is deep in sleep with nothing to wake him before he's ready. It hurts Henry's heart to know what he will wake up to see. 

But this is something he has to do. He says as much in his letter. 

When he looks at Alex, and he looks at his letter, he realizes it doesn't matter what he writes. Alex will hate him either way, and no amount of poetry will fix that. He crumples up the letter and throws it in the wastebasket. 

On his way out, he stops in the kitchen and hastily scribbles a new note.

_Alex,_

_Had to go early for a family matter. Left with the PPOs. Didn't want to wake you._

_Thank you for everything._

_X_

Henry walks out the door and doesn't look back.


End file.
